


Slipping Under

by justanothermaniac



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 07:50:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21490885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothermaniac/pseuds/justanothermaniac
Summary: The twins are only nine years old but their fate is laid bare before them both.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Jerome Valeska
Kudos: 43





	Slipping Under

**Author's Note:**

> In some of my works (I can't remember exactly), I mentioned Jerome doing what he's doing in this one, sooo, in case you ever wanted to know how that happened. Like that. Because they're horrible and I'm horrible.
> 
> Also, toxic childhood twins is one of my favorite things. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.
> 
> Much love!
> 
> ~ jam 💙
> 
> (also, I got the counting from the movie "Hide And Seek", so I hope I spelled the 'one thousand' thing correctly? We don't do that in Austria so I'm sorry if I did it wrong!)

"Miiiaaah ~"

Jeremiah flinches, clasping both hands in front of his mouth so Jerome can't hear his rapid breathing. Silent tears are running down his cheeks and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to calm himself down enough to think.

They only have one rule when playing hide and seek.

_(There's a hand in his hair, and lips against his ear, Jerome's breath sending a shiver down his spine. Jeremiah jumps, digging his fingers into the worn couch, ready to sputter out apologies for crimes he didn't commit, but Jerome doesn't let him, tightening his grip as he whispers: "Start counting.") _

Jeremiah has to change his hiding spot every twenty seconds. If he doesn't, Jerome will know and that never ends well for him.

Not that hide and seek ever ends well for him.

"Come out, come out, wherever you aaare ~", Jerome sings, his voice too loud for comfort. He's getting closer. Jeremiah is gripping the fabric of his his pants, knuckles white and trembling.

_("If I win, I get to make you bleed ~")_

They never talk about what Jeremiah gets if he wins. They don't need to.

Jeremiah takes a deep, shaky breath, his lungs so closed up that it doesn't make a difference. He has five seconds left. He's pressing his back against the transport wagon, a wide, open grass field in front of him with no place to hide.

_Four-onethousand._

He could try to roll under the wagon and to the other side -

_Three-onethousand._

\- but the tiger cage is there and Taffy and Taboo would surely alert Jerome once they're aware of his presence.

_Two-onethousand._

Jerome is whistling and it's getting louder, Jeremiah is out of options -

_One-_

He drops to his knees with a muffled sob. His slender body fits easily between the bumpy ground and the bottom of the wagon as he lowers himself on his belly. Dirt sticks to his sweaty palms and collects under his fingernails as he pulls himself forward, his heart beating so hard against his ribcage that it hurts.

There's a grip around his ankle.

_("Please, Jerome, I don't wanna play hide and seek, please..!") _

Jeremiah's blood runs cold.

_("Twenty-onethousand, nineteen-onethousand ~") _

"Found ya!"

He cries out when he's dragged out from under the wagon. His brother's giggle slices through his bones and rips his heart in half.

Bony fingers dig into the soft flesh of his hips before he's flipped around, Jerome's hand finding his hair and gripping as he straddles him. Jeremiah has his eyes squeezed shut. He doesn't want to look at Jerome. He can't. 

Jerome's other hand cups his cheek as he leans down, his lips a hair's width away from Jeremiah's earlobe. "I win ~", he coos and Jeremiah flinches once more. He silently begs for the ground beneath him to rip open and swallow him whole.

But even if it did, Jerome would follow.

The hand disappears, leaving Jeremiah's skin cold before he hears an agonizingly familiar click. Cold metal caresses his cheek, hard enough for him to feel the sharpness of the blade, but not hard enough to break skin.

Not yet.

Jerome's hand slides from his hair as he leans back up. "Now for my prize..." He takes a hold of Jeremiah's wrist and starts pulling his sleeve up.

Jeremiah tries to empty his mind. He thinks of black, an endless void of darkness that envelops him and takes him away, away from the fear, away from the hurt, away from Jerome. He's floating, emotionless, as light as air itself, free.

It works until the first cut.

Jeremiah bites back a cry of pain, his arm twitches out of reflex so Jerome grasps it tighter, pinning Jeremiah's other arm down with his foot. "Pretty...", Jerome whispers, his hot breath making the cut burn as it hits and Jeremiah sobs.

"Stop, _stop,_ Jerome, _please,_ don't..!"

His pleads fall on deaf ears, like they always do. He opens his eyes, hoping that _seeing_ what's happening, _knowing_ what's to come, might make it easier.

It doesn't. It never does. But Jeremiah is nine years old and despite the toxicity around and inside of him, he still hopes. He has to. Hope is the only thing he can cling to, even though he's barely hanging on, his grasp slipping with every tear he cries, every scream he makes. 

Jerome has his lips pressed into a thin line as he concentrates, his eyes clear and focused. But Jeremiah sees the dark glimmer, can feel him trying to suppress his giddiness by how tense his muscles are. 

The fact that Jeremiah can't see the knife makes every cut hurt a thousand times worse. Hot tears are streaming down his cheeks and he's not holding back his sobs, both of them very aware that no one is going to hear him. His arm twitches against Jerome's grip, which is all he can do to try and defend himself, but to no avail. 

"Don't be a baby. You can take it", Jerome mumbles in a tone that's supposed to be encouraging but it really just makes Jeremiah hurt even more. He thrashes his head, the cuts on his arm burning, the sharp press of the knife stinging as Jerome keeps cutting him and he can feel drops of blood trickling down his skin.

He vaguely remembers a time before he grew to fear Jerome. He remembers holding Jerome's hand, and feeling warm and happy when Jerome hugged him. He remembers holding each other at night, crying while their mother was shouting at someone outside of their room. He remembers that he used to kiss Jerome's cheekbone upon waking up, and Jerome giggling, soft and cheery.

It seems an entire lifetime ago, and he's only a child.

The cold metal leaves his heated skin and Jerome loosens his grip a little, leaning back to admire his handiwork. Jeremiah isn't looking at him but he knows that's what Jerome is doing. It's what Jerome always does. "There. All done ~"

He giggles again and Jeremiah can hear him flick the pocket knife away. Jeremiah knows he's going to make him clean it later. "Wanna see?"

No. He doesn't. And he conveys that, shaking his head weakly, pleadingly. <strike>_(hoping) _</strike>

He whines when Jerome harshly twists his arm, supposedly so that the cuts are in his field of vision. It's not the angle that's particularly painful but the rough treatment of his abused flesh. Heat radiates from it, enough to make him nauseous. 

He shakes his head again, biting his lip to hold in another cry when Jerome digs his fingers in his flesh, arching his back off the ground as far as he can with Jerome still holding him down. "C'mon, baby brother, open your eyes. If you don't check it out, I'll be _really_ upset..."

Jeremiah is unable to ignore the threat. He wills his eyes to open, the screaming red letters on his arm not only sliced into his flesh but forever burned into his soul.

_Jerome's. _

Jeremiah's chest feels tight, as if he's getting squished by a rock that is now grinding his heart to dust. It's final. His eternal punishment for being born.

Jerome releases his other arm and gets off of him, pulling Jeremiah into a sitting position, making him cry out for what feels like the hundredth time. "You are, aren't you?", he coos as he pulls Jeremiah into his lap, intertwining their fingers.

Jeremiah goes completely lax against him. He hates himself for it, he hates his body for relaxing at the warmth and comfort it used to know without paying for it first. It's bizarre. It's wrong. And yet he can't find it in himself to fight.

He's shaking, curling even more into Jerome, his heart unclenching when he presses his lips to Jeremiah's forehead, the treacherous relief followed by paralyzing disgust.

<strike> _(You're letting him do this. You made yourself his long before he did)._ </strike>

"I wish you were dead..!", he tries to snarl, but it comes out as a meek whimper. It's not helping either that he buries his face in Jerome's neck, crying his little heart out. He hates him. He hates Jerome so _much, _hates how Jerome is holding him close, shushing him sweetly, as if it he's not the one that hurt Jeremiah. As if he's not always the one that hurts Jeremiah.

"One day, baby brother", Jerome says, his tone of voice oddly solemn, making Jeremiah's skin itch like a million ants biting into his flesh.

He hates that he lets himself lean even deeper into his brother's embrace, already feeling his heart mending itself back together, his heartstrings interlaced with Jerome's and pulling tight.

He hates that, even though the cuts on his arms will fade, the cuts in his soul are permanent.

He hates that he thinks it's worth it as long as Jerome will hold him like this afterwards.

Because as much as he hates Jerome, the soul-crushing, toxic _love_ he feels for Jerome is coursing through his veins like acid, burning him from the inside out.

<strike>(We didn't choose this.)</strike>

He truly does belong to Jerome. And Jerome belongs to him. They're each other's curse, destined to claw at the misshapen heart they share until they'll eventually destroy each other and leave this world, together.

The twins are only nine years old but their fate is laid bare before them both.

Jeremiah is wrecked by sobs, his arm pulsating and his fingers tightly grasping Jerome's. Jerome is nuzzling his hair, his words lighting Jeremiah's heart on fire, because, for the first time, he's voicing what both of them already knew:

"And I'm gonna take you with me."


End file.
